


clenching my jagged jaws (over the capture)

by Marishna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Derek Has Issues, Derek is a Good Alpha, Dreams, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Magical Claudia Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mentioned Kate Argent, POV Derek, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Scott in Derek's Pack, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Uses A Baseball Bat, Tattooed Stiles, The Alpha Pack, The Hale Fire, julia baccari - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4474577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marishna/pseuds/Marishna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale was never supposed to be alpha, but he's a good one.  He doesn't need any help and he definitely doesn't need an emissary.  </p>
<p>Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's emissary and come hell or high water he's going to see the Hale pack through the impending arrival of the alpha pack, even if it means he can never return to Beacon Hills after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clenching my jagged jaws (over the capture)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for twreversebang, held on LJ.
> 
> I was able to claim [this amazing art](http://chofee.tumblr.com/post/125580801225/my-art-for-teenwolfreversebang-rest-of) by chofee on tumblr, or idiotsite on LJ. The song referenced in the art is called "Orca" by Wintersleep, a band I knew from years ago and it all FIT for me when I saw it for the first time. HAD to have it. 
> 
> I thought it was going to be about 4500-ish words before I started. Then maybe 10,000. When I submitted by first draft it was 9200 and I thought "another 3-4,000". I either don't know how to math or don't know how to shut up. Both, actually!
> 
> BIG thanks to theron09 for betaing and for the suggestions and encouragement! 
> 
> Other songs that made it onto my constant-loop playlist for the duration of this fic:  
> Scream my Name - Tove Lo  
> My Gun - Tove Lo  
> Got Love - Tove Lo  
> Thousand Miles - Tove Lo  
> Electric Love - BØRNS  
> Home - Wintersleep  
> Team - Lorde  
> I Know Places - Taylor Swift  
> Counting bodies like sheet to the rhythm of the war drums - A Perfect Circle

_He crept up on the boy huddled over a tombstone, mumbling under his breath._

_He couldn’t hear what he was saying, even though he tried. It was muffled or sounded like another language._

_In the dark of night in a cemetery anything seemed possible but this felt off. Not wrong, not yet._

_He drew up beside the boy, hunched behind him out of sight, and watched. He could feel the sorrow rolling off him and to use the phrase ‘in waves’ wasn’t hyperbole or a turn of phrase. He felt it to his very core and it put him on edge. He wanted to howl at the moon in reaction but there wasn’t one and he couldn’t._

_Couldn’t do anything but watch._

_The boy smelled like earth, and rain and salt and static. He smelled like a thunderstorm—before, during and after. He smelled like something never thought possible._

_The mumbling was getting louder and the boy was rocking back and forth a little, rubbing his hands together, as if cold._

_The boy wasn’t cold._

_He moved around, used the tombstones as cover and tried to see what he could already **feel**. His hair was starting to stand on end, raising against his volition and making his skin itch. He bared his fangs and squeezed down a growl._

_His wolf was always on edge lately._

_For good reason._

_The boy’s face was lighting up, something casting a glow on him. He was young, too young to be playing in a boneyard in the middle of the night, at any point ever._

_The boy was trying something beyond his ken. Something wrong, something bad._

_He didn’t know how to stop it, to hold it back. He jumped over a gravestone, landing in front of the boy and snarling so loud the sound echoed between the stones. The boy fell back on his rear, letting out a yelp and then freezing at the sight of a wolf standing in front of him. Not as big as he could be, but the boy would never know._

_The boy either didn’t care or was acting on instinct and raised his hands again, and that smell was back of a storm brewing around them._

_He pounced._

_Wanted to just clamp his fangs around the boy’s neck, to keep him immobile until he calmed down and maybe he could…_

_The boy struggled._

_He growled and couldn’t control himself, couldn’t hold back._

_Blood lust._

_His claws ripped through the boy’s jacket and shirt to skin and he could smell blood and could see the torn skin, felt his eyes go red and the frenzy start to hit while he literally foamed at the mouth._

_He advanced, digging his paws into the soft earth ready to strike and the boy raised one shaking hand while the other clutched at his torn skin._

_He knew what was coming, how it felt every time he revisited this._

_The boy screamed out, “ **NO!”**_

_One big wave, darkness sure to follow and—_

 

*******

Derek woke up on the floor, head smarting from where it hit the hardwood and coughing a little from having the wind knocked out of him. He groaned and covered his face with his hands, breathing deep to keep his claws from popping.

The light flipped on and he let out a quick snarl at the sudden brightness in his bedroom. Isaac stood in the doorway, watching him passively.

“Anything this time?” he asked.

Derek sat up slowly, mind trying to chase after the tendrils of the dream that fled his memory the second he woke up.

Every damn time.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Isaac sighed. “Maybe it’s just a subconscious thing.”

Derek was quiet, knowing that wasn’t it. “Maybe,” he said softly.

 

*******

Weekend breakfast in a house full of werewolves was an incredible sight, even to another werewolf. They were lucky they had quick reflexes and were able to move fast because otherwise they’d never get enough food made to feed them all. Anarchy would ensue.

At the start of it all Derek was pretty sure more than one all-out brawl would break out during mealtimes. Now they were a well-oiled machine and it was just one of the things that made Derek’s heart swell with pride that he’d never in a million years confess to because it was stupid but it was something _he_ did. Something he was able to accomplish.

He was never supposed to be an Alpha. Laura was the oldest and the one who would have been groomed to take the mantle once his mother passed the power on to her. But it happened too soon and Laura inherited it without any say in the matter.

Officially the fire started in the basement due to faulty wiring.

In actuality Derek didn’t know why or how the fire started. All he and Laura knew was that she was the alpha and they had targets on their back.

The scene of the fire was innocuous to human eyes but to for a werewolf the smell of mountain ash and wolf’s bane was everywhere, especially around the perimeter of the house and concentrated in areas of entry to the house. There were also lingering scents of people, maybe other weres in the air after the fire, as if they were burned into permanence in the area.

But there was no way to know who was who or what was what after the fact.

No other packs stepped forward to stake claim on the area and a hunter would have left a calling card as a declaration. Derek refused to believe it could have been a hunter and ignored every knowing look Laura gave him when she brought up the idea.

Kate Argent was over and done with, gone from the town with her whole family, he argued. A substitute teacher on the side who liked to play with impressionable young werewolves, he said as much as it pained him to do so because at the time he thought she was his first love. She only left because of the treaty, Derek explained, referring to the peace agreement his mother brokered with the Argents who then left the town.

Rumours flew in their small supernatural community of someone who wanted to claim the Beacon Hills territory, that it was hunters who didn’t get everyone, that the Hales were mixed up in dirty business on their own. Derek bristled every time those whispers reached his ears. Left on their own he and Laura didn’t know how to proceed with any investigation or who to trust.

The only clue Derek would have to go on was Laura’s death.

Mere days after the fire someone came to try to finish the job, an alpha. Normally they likely would have succeeded in taking out both Laura and Derek, being an experienced alpha to a new alpha and beta, but he underestimated them.

Underestimated Derek and the rage one teenaged, hormone-filled, grief-stricken werewolf could have in him. Laura fought but was losing in the one-on-one. She was pinned down and just when she seemed resigned to the killing blow Derek attacked, seeing red in every way possible.

He didn’t remember much, possibly because he’d willed the images away or possibly because of a total rage blackout, but when he was done he was painted red with blood and had a set of alpha eyes to match.

Laura lay dead at his feet, claws of their enemy embedded in her throat while he slumped on top of her, also slain. Derek dragged the strange werewolf off her and tore into him, giving into the blood lust until he was shredded and unrecognizable. Derek cut him into small pieces and scattered the remains—some in the river, some buried in far places on the preserve, some burned.

Laura’s body was buried in her favorite place on the preserve, close to the remains of their house and family, and by a patch of wildflowers.

When he was done Derek ran long and far into the forest and howled his sorrow to the moon, a long mournful sound that wasn’t returned by any other creature.

He was never supposed to be an alpha.

 

*******

“I’m here, I’m here!” Scott yelled when he banged through the front door, Derek wincing a little at how hard it hit the very abused doorstop.

“Finally,” Erica drawled, sinking into her usual chair at the table beside Boyd. “You better have gotten orange this time. Who says they’re going to bring juice and doesn’t bring orange?”

“Whatever, you cannot possibly bring me down today,” Scott replied with a grin and dropped two bags full of large juice containers into the middle of the table.

“What’s got your tail all waggy?” she asked, snagging the juice before anyone else could.

“Stiles is coming back!” Scott announced excitedly.

Everyone stared at him.

“Huh?” Isaac asked.

“You might not remember him but he was my best friend growing up! About eight years ago his mom died and he had some shit happen to him, I don’t know. His dad sent him to live with his grandmother in Oregon. But he’s coming back now!”

“Why would he want to come back to Beacon Hills?” Erica asked, turning up her nose a little. “S’not like anything exciting happens here.”

“His dad is still here. I haven’t gotten word about what else he’s planning yet,” Scott explained.

“Who’s his father?” Derek asked, speaking up for the first time while the rest of the pack got their breakfasts.

“The Sheriff,” Scott said around a mouthful of pancake. “Pass the syrup, please?”

“Mmm, Stilinski’s hot. What’s the son like?” Erica asked. Isaac cast a concerned look at Boyd, her boyfriend, but he just shrugged.

“Ew,” Scott replied. “I refuse to say anything about the hotness of my best friend based on that of his _father_. All I know is that he’s amazing and awesome and you’re all going to get such a kick out of him!"

Derek put his elbows on the table, levelled a look at Scott. “You can’t tell him, you know.”

“About what?” Scott asked.

Derek raised his eyebrow.

Scott sighed as if he only just remembered that he was a werewolf and the pack generally didn’t tell anyone about themselves for fear of reprisals from whoever might take offence to that. The Sheriff with a gun, Hunters or mass mobs of torch-weilding towns folk. Derek didn’t like taking any chances.

“What if he’s cool with it?” Scott asked, brown eyes getting wide and ‘puppyish’ as Erica called it.

“No,” Derek replied in a tone that brooked no argument. Scott stuffed another pancake in his mouth but chewed slower, less enthusiastically.

“Can he at least come to hang out?” Scott asked quietly, keeping his eyes down out of respect to the alpha.

Derek considered it for a second, looking over at the other three who were watching his reaction. He sighed.

He was the alpha, not their overlord.

“Give us a heads up before and not within a few days of the full moon. Just to be safe.”

Scott’s grin was thanks enough. And then he had to start talking again.

“Deaton asked me to—“

“No,” Derek cut him off, biting into a piece of toast with a little more force than necessary.

Scott tried again. “But he says he’s got—“

“No, Scott. We’ve been fine without an emissary, we don’t need a stranger coming in now.”

Boyd cleared his throat. “Derek—“

“ _No_ ,” Derek growled, eyes flashing.

The betas all ducked their heads and they finished breakfast in silence.

 

*******

Deaton, the town vet, was his mother’s emissary.

He explained when Derek came to power that he would be Derek’s acting emissary until he found his own. Thing is, Derek never did. He never looked for one, never asked Deaton to find one for him.

Hell, he didn’t even consult Deaton on half the stuff he should, traditionally. It wasn’t that he didn’t know or like the man, he did. He remembered him visiting the house when he was a child, long before the fire. Deaton was always kind, if a little obscure.

Deaton was his _mother’s_ emissary, though, and even though technically he still represented the “Hale” pack it wasn’t the same as when it was just his family. Emissaries were personal to the pack, to the alpha, and Derek didn’t have the same connection to Deaton that his mother did. He respected Deaton well enough but…

But the fire made Derek hard, made him loathe to trust anyone, even people in his own pack. His first couple years as an alpha were rocky as hell and he was too young to be in control of anything, let alone a group of werewolves.

He did it, though. On his own and worked at it every day. He often woke up feeling like he’d finally won a long fight and that was enough to keep him going day after day, looking out for his pack and making sure they were safe and happy.

He had his pack, he had his re-built home, and Beacon Hills was steady for once.

What more did he need?

 

*******

A few days later while out for a run, fully shifted, Derek smelled something that made him stop dead in his tracks. He skidded so suddenly that he almost toppled over and he hadn’t done that in years.

He pulled desperately at his memory, trying to remember where he knew that scent from. It felt like when attempting to recall a particular word but the harder you tried the further away it got. He couldn’t figure out if the smell was something he knew from his past or maybe from one of his dreams or something completely normal but because he was in his wolf form it smelled different.

He skirted the edge of the forest and realized he was near the Beacon Hills cemetery. He usually avoided coming this close to it, preferring to remember his family from afar, but he didn’t have a choice now.

He stepped cautiously onto the maintained grass, paused and listened for anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing.

He skirted around the tombstones quickly and didn’t have to be as careful to hide himself because they were in the new moon. He sniffed his way to a plot about halfway into the headstones there he found nothing seemingly out of the ordinary. There was a fresh bouquet of flowers at the base of Claudia Stilinski’s monument, the Sheriff’s wife and Scott’s friend’s mom.

Derek felt a whine unwillingly tear from his throat and he backed up a little, unsure what was happening. He nosed around on the ground, feeling a little like he was desecrating the area, but he found it.

A small, smooth stone under the flowers and pushed into the ground enough to hold it there. A symbol of some sort, maybe a rune, was etched in it but Derek didn’t have a clue what it was for. All he knew was that the smell was achingly familiar and it made him want to curl up on the grave.

He backed away from the plot, twisting his mouth at the feelings that, for him, were outside of his purview. He escaped back to the safety and security of the woods, feeling like he was running from something important.

 

*******

“And then Stiles said—“

Derek tuned out as Scott launched into another awesome thing his best friend from middle school did as he chopped carrots for supper. Boyd, Isaac and Erica seemed interested enough but Derek was okay with skipping easily the tenth Stiles story of the past couple of days.

The famed Stiles arrived back in town a few days earlier, and Derek knew Scott was eager to have him over but it was within a week of the full moon and as much as he believed everyone had control in his pack he didn’t know what a new element in their house would do so close to their shift.

_Keep telling yourself that, Derek_ , the little voice in his head whispered. He frowned and brushed at his head as it trying to shake it off.

As soon as Scott started speaking constantly about Stiles’ arrival Derek felt itchy under his skin and like he needed to run but he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t know the kid, wasn’t threatened by him and he liked seeing Scott so excited about part of his life he once thought lost.

Maybe it was jealousy, he pondered to himself. Maybe he was jealous that Scott was getting something from his past that Derek would never get again.

He shook his head and kept chopping, not realizing he was grumbling to himself until he realized the pack was staring at him.

“Those veggies causing you trouble, boss?” Boyd asked, raising an eyebrow. Erica snorted but she also looked like she wanted to ask. Isaac and Scott exchanged looks over the table.

“Maybe I’m waiting for someone to offer to help with dinner,” Derek replied, tone mild but as soon as he spoke everyone was up and pitching in to cook.

Erica brushed up against his arm purposely when she reached across him for a knife and Isaac rubbed his cheek against Derek’s shoulder reassuringly while Boyd and Scott changed the topic and drew Derek into a new conversation with them, not letting him block them out.

This was okay.

Derek was okay.

 

*******

Derek was not okay.

A week after the full moon he finally snapped at Scott but not for anything Stiles-related. In fact, he hadn’t even asked to bring Stiles over to the house yet.

But that scent was _haunting_ Derek and now it was tracked into the house on Scott when he came home from his shift at the vet.

“What in the hell were you rolling in?” Derek demanded as soon as Scott stepped into the house. Scott didn’t even have his shoes off and Derek pressed his face into Scott’s neck to inhale.

“Nothing?” Scott replied, sending a freaked out look towards Erica and Isaac who were watching with their own concerned looks. “I mean, I helped Deaton put down Mrs. Patterson’s beagle today. Maybe it’s that?”

“It’s not,” Derek growled. “What else?”

Scott flailed and Derek grabbed his hands to hold them down while he kept sniffing, trying desperately to place the scent.

“Nothing, dude, I swear. I haven’t been anywhere but home and to Deaton’s today!”

Ah, that would explain it. Derek let Scott go and muttered an apology, feeling ashamed of his behaviour. Then he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

 

*******

“Are you trying to drive me crazy? Actually clinically insane?” Derek spat out as soon as he was through the back door of the clinic, the one always kept open for supernatural emergencies.

But Deaton wasn’t in the rear of the clinic like he normally was after hours. Derek frowned and listened, caught voices speaking from one of the exam rooms. Derek made his way silently to the hallway and shamelessly eavesdropped; maybe it was a late patient.

“—thinking at the very least I can renew the wards once a week and work up from there, maybe be able to personalize them as soon as I get access,” an unknown person said.

That was Deaton’s hum of approval. “I’m sure it will be soon, although I know you’re… impatient.”

The other person snorted. “Me? Impatient?” But his tone was laced with sarcasm, and then he laughed. “Scott’s just got to wait for the okay from Derek. I don’t like doing it this way, though. I want to see Derek on my own.”

“You will, just give him a little room.”

Derek staggered back to the door, mind racing. He knew he should calm down, not over react. He knew it wasn’t what it sounded like.

Right?

_Right_?

Scott wasn’t betraying him, Deaton wasn’t in on it. There wasn’t a stranger in Beacon Hills trying to get to him. He repeated this over and over in his head, trying to force back the rage that threatened to overtake him.

He felt his claws prick through his fingers, his fangs itch at his gums trying to get out but he pushed the wolf back. He was better than this now, even if he didn’t always believe it. He doubled over, hands on his knees while he did deep breathing and calmed himself.

Then he smelled it.

He froze, like prey in the sights of a predator, and waited. But nothing happened.

Finally he lifted his head slowly and his gaze caught on someone standing in front of him. He took him in from sneakered toe, to well-worn khakis, a trim waist, folded arms across his hoodie-covered chest, long slender neck up to his eyes that were bright and deep and the color of whiskey. And they were staring back at him.

He was the source of the smell that was driving Derek crazy.

He _was_ the smell.

“You,” Derek croaked.

“Me,” the guy replied flatly but the corner of his mouth twitched up for a second.

They stared each other down, neither moving nor breaking eye contact. Derek didn’t feel threatened, if anything he was intrigued, but he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“Derek,” Deaton announced as he walked into the back room. He seemed resigned to whatever was going to happen. “I see you’ve met Mr. Stilinski.”

Derek blinked and the pieces snapped into place. “Wait, Scott’s friend? You’re Stiles?”

“That’s me,” Stiles replied, flashing a couple fingers as a wave. Derek caught a glimpse of tattoos on his hand, running across each finger.

Derek pointed an accusatory finger. “You!”

Stiles raised an eyebrow and pointed to himself. “Me.”

“What is this, Deaton?” Derek snarled.

“You’re the one who came here, Mr. Hale,” Deaton replied, unperturbed by Derek’s outburst.

“I never asked you for an emissary!”

“I didn’t find you one.”

Derek growled and flashed his eyes. Neither man batted an eye. “What is he doing here?”

“Me?” Stiles asked with a grin. “I’m your emissary.”

Derek let out a frustrated sound but Stiles’ grin just got bigger.

“I don’t have an emissary. I don’t _need_ an emissary.”

Stiles grin fell but he didn’t look discouraged. “Too bad, ‘cause you got one.”

Derek went easily into his beta shift, letting his fangs drop and eyes flash, ire getting the best of him but wanting to make his point perfectly clear. “I don’t _want_ an emissary!” He snarled, words echoing in the room.

Stiles’ expression was unchanged when he walked up to Derek and poked a finger in his chest. “And like _I_ said, too bad.” He prodded at Derek with every word to emphasize his point.

Derek stared back at, at… at well, this young man, and.

“What are you doing?” he asked dumbly. Did he have a death wish? Didn’t he know better than to challenge a werewolf, an alpha at that? Derek was torn between wanting to rip this guy’s head off and making sure he wasn’t insane.

“Here’s the deal: Clearly you’re not the easiest person to get along with. Just so happens that I’m persistent to the point of homicide. So we can have this out right now, claws and fangs against everything I’ve got or you can suck your alpha bullshit attitude up long enough to have a cup of coffee with me and talk about this,” Stiles rattled off, still in Derek’s personal bubble.

Derek looked up at Deaton, feeling like he had a rather helpless look on his face, but the vet merely inclined his head and nodded slightly.

Derek struggled with himself for a few moments, then let his features go back to normal. He glared at Stiles. “Fine.”

The grin that spread across Stiles’ face was ridiculous and baffling.

 

*******

“So… this is awkward.”

Derek looked up from his cup of coffee, surprised. Stiles was shredding a napkin, his insanely sweetened mocha triple shot whatever already half gone even though they sat down only five minutes before.

“What do you want me to say?” Derek asked gruffly.

“Nothing. I’d like you to hear me out, though,” Stiles replied. Derek shrugged and made a gesture with his hand as if to say, ‘go ahead’ but Stiles shook his head. “No, I want you to _hear me out_. Listen to me before you say no because right now that’s all you’re thinking.”

Derek sighed, a long put-upon sound that felt dragged out of him. “Fine. Open mind it is.”

Stiles put his hands flat on the table, took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. Then he shut it.

“Cat got your tongue?” Derek asked and Stiles shot him a glare.

“This isn’t something you just blurt out, okay? There’s a reason why I’m back now and I really need you to know.”

Derek sighed and closed his mouth with a loud click, eyes on Stiles. There was a buzz in his ears, not unpleasant, that surrounded them at their table. Derek could tell it was something Stiles was projecting but he didn’t know if it was something subconscious or a protection measure.

“The fire—“

Derek cut him off. “What do you know about the fire?” Immediately he was on the defensive.

Stiles, sensing this, put his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, I’m from here, remember? I was here when it happened, that’s how I know.”

“Sorry,” Derek said gruffly.

“I know it’s never been solved, okay? Like, I know the fire inspector ruled it due to the wiring but I know different and so do other people.”

“How?”

“Through my grandmother I have links to other emissaries, people who I’ve trained with or gotten tips from. The community is very close and we work hard at doing more good and preventing harm overall, even if some emissaries prefer to take a somewhat hands _off_ approach to things, but sometimes that has to do more with the alphas and packs they’re serving than the emissary themselves,” Stiles explained. Derek nodded, wanting to get him to hurry up.

“Word got to my grandmother that emissaries were being killed. By their own _packs_ , the alphas, actually. About ten years ago one was killed by his own alpha but that was put down as a freak accident or something, I don’t even know. It’s not really spoken about, you know?” Derek’s eyes darted between Stiles’ lips and his fingers that had moved on to shredding the paper sleeve around his coffee. He could sense the tension radiating from him as he told his story.

“But back around the time of the fire another one was killed. And within six months a couple more. And by now there must be about six or eight that have been killed, I think. Maybe more. Like I said, details are sketchy.”

Stiles leaned in close, prompting Derek to do the same. “Here’s where things get even shittier: one of the emissaries an alpha tried to kill lived. She sought refuge and tried to take revenge. Her name was Julia Baccari and she was killed for real, but not before she sent information to my grandmother about the alpha pack.”

“Alpha pack?” Derek repeated. Stiles nodded. “That’s not a thing. That can’t be a thing.”

“Not that anyone’s aware of, no. But apparently the leader, some guy named Deucalion, has been tempting other werewolves over to the dark side like gangbusters.”

Derek frowned at Stiles’ phrasing. “So you’re saying this ‘alpha pack’ killed my family?”

“With help, yes.”

“Help from who?”

“Ever heard of the Argents?”

Derek felt his stomach drop and the color drain from his face, which Stiles noticed and nodded. “That’s a yes.”

“But they. They weren’t here then,” Derek said hoarsely.

“It wasn’t the whole family, but like Deucalion it seems there are a couple crazy ones in the mix.”

“Kate.”

Stiles cocked his head. “Yeah, and her father Gerard. They struck some kind of deal with the alpha pack. That’s what Julia’s information says, anyway.”

“How did she know this?” Derek demanded.

“She was the emissary for Deucalion’s now second-in-command. And her lover.”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty much sums it up.”

“Okay, so that’s one betrayed emissary’s opinion. Why does it matter now?” Derek asked.

“I did some digging of my own once I found all this out. I got in touch with some people I trust and asked around. Word is that Gerard is dying, Kate’s going a little crazy and it coincides nicely with Deucalion’s itchy trigger fang,” Stiles said. Derek had to keep from rolling his eyes, although the corner of his mouth twitched up against his will. “From what I hear Kate wants to tie up some loose ends and Beacon Hills is one of them.”

“You mean I’m one of them.”

Stiles nodded. “These two groups of nut jobs made themselves a pact once, can’t put it past them to try it again even though they’re supposed to be mortal enemies.”

“Kate never did play by the rules,” Derek muttered and although it looked like he wanted to ask Stiles kept quiet.

“What do you remember about right after the fire?” he asked curiously, but with his eyes downcast like he was trying to be more casual than he was.

“Why?”

Stiles was quiet again and Derek could feel him thinking, trying to figure out how to start.

“My mother passed away around the same time as the fire,” Stiles explained. Derek nodded, encouraging Stiles to continue. “My mom… she was amazing.”

The smile that spread across Stiles’ face unbidden was genuine and innocent, and Derek got the sense that it was one reserved for moments most people didn’t see. Stiles’ eyes seemed to look past Derek, remembering his mother and letting himself have this moment with her.

“She’s the one I got my power from, her side of the family. She told me about it, here and there, because it was obvious I wasn’t exactly _normal_ ,” Stiles snorted. “But she wasn’t able to give me any training before. So I went to live with my grandmother.”

Stiles paused and looked into Derek’s eyes. Derek felt like he was waiting for a reaction of some sort but just shrugged.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Stiles nodded, then asked, “How often do you go to the cemetery to visit your family?”

Derek froze.

Stiles watched him.

“What?” Derek’s voice was flat and low, edging on a growl.

“Simple question. My mom’s buried there. Haven’t been by in a couple years, since the last time I came to visit Beacon Hills.”

Derek relaxed his expression but didn’t say anything. Under the table he clenched his fists and tried to keep his claws from cutting into his skin.

“So you don’t get there often, is what you’re not saying? Do you ever wonder why?”

_Because I’m there every night in my sleep?_ Derek thought, out of nowhere, and his heart jumped because he knew it was true, even though he could never remember.

Stiles fixed him with a knowing look. “You have dreams.”

Derek slammed a hand on the table, palm down and showing off his growing claws. He didn’t care that other people in the coffee shop looked over at them.

“Well, this just went from awkward to tense,” Stiles said lightly, sipping at his coffee, uncaring that Derek’s control was wavering. He reached out with one hand and covered Derek’s on the table. Derek tried to jerk back but Stiles whispered something under his breath and Derek could feel a calm come over him, drawing his claws back and bringing him off the edge.

“Who are you?” Derek whispered, leaning in and staring intently at Stiles’ face.

“I’m Stiles, and I’m your emissary.”

 

*******

“So, uh. Hi.”

Derek rolled his eyes as Stiles waved from the head of the dinner table. He had brought Stiles around because he liked his pack to know they were as important in the decisions as he was, even though he had final say. After everything Stiles told him about what was potentially happening it underscored his need to be as open with his betas as possible.

The pack was gathered in the kitchen, introduced stiffly by Derek as _an_ emissary but not mentioning that he was theirs. Scott was happy to see his best friend, at least, but the other three were appropriately wary of him, possibly feeding off Derek’s discomfort with the situation.

“I figured it would be easiest to talk to everyone about this because it affects you all. Um. Derek, do they know about the fire?” Stiles asked, eyes steady on him. Derek nodded from across the table.

“Okay. So the fire that burned down the original Hale house wasn’t an accident, or so I believe. I have some information that can’t really be called evidence, as such, but I trust it. Because of this there’s reason to believe there’s a threat coming for you all again, back to Beacon Hills.”

“What’s the info?” Boyd asked.

“Files from another emissary leading to a pack that was eliminated by one of their own to join an alpha pack.”

Erica snorted. “An ‘alpha pack’?” she mocked. “How is that a thing?”

Stiles shrugged. “I know it sounds crazy but it’s true. I don’t understand it yet because the tangible information we have access to is so sparse but I guarantee you, this is a shitstorm of a situation.”

“What do we do, then? Wait for them to come?” Isaac asked, arms crossed.

“We train more, reach out to our contacts on the edges of the territory, contact other packs. We get ready,” Derek spoke up.

Stiles raised his hand and the werewolves all looked at him. “That’s also why I’m here. I can help.”

Derek opened his mouth to refuse but Isaac spoke up again. “We’re fine on our own.”

“Yeah, we’ve been fine so far, we don’t need anyone else,” Erica agreed with Boyd nodding as well. Stiles spared a glance at Scott but he was looking to Derek, who felt both happy at Scott’s deference to him and somewhat guilty for making Scott choose between his pack and his best friend.

_A best friend who could be pack, moron,_ his mind taunted.

“I just want to help,” Stiles said, sounding desperate. “I’m from here, I remember the fire and—“

“Derek says we don’t need an emissary, we don’t need an emissary,” Boyd cut him off easy and calm.

Stiles looked like he wanted to argue but Derek could see him work through something in his mind and close his mouth with a click, then nod. He pushed back from the table. “I’ll see myself out, then.”

Something wasn’t right about this.

He got to the kitchen door before Derek told him to stop. Stiles turned around, hopeful. “Can you wait in the living room while we have a pack meeting?”

Stiles followed the direction Derek pointed him to and went, disappearing down the hall where he wouldn’t be able to hear them talking.

The pack turned to Derek and waited expectantly. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say.

“He brought us the information,” Scott said, finally speaking up. He looked like he was waiting to be reprimanded by Derek but the alpha just nodded.

“That’s it. He came here from another state when he didn’t have to, to warn us about a potential threat. Having been through it once I don’t want to go through it again. I refuse to lose any of you, especially to anything as stupid as turning down help.”

“And he’s really good at what he does,” Scott piped up. “He’s a strong emissary.”

“I thought you didn’t trust emissaries,” Erica asked.

Derek frowned and tried to explain what he was feeling. “I don’t trust Deaton. I’ve never known any other emissaries.”

“All thumbs are fingers but not all fingers are thumbs?” Isaac asked, staring off into space and everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged. “Made sense to me.”

“I guess, yeah? Deaton is an emissary but not all emissaries are Deaton,” Erica said slowly, scratching her head.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Derek replied. “Is everyone okay with Stiles helping us until this gets settled, one way or another?”

He didn’t mean for the end of that sentence to sound so ominous but there really wasn’t a way around it. He looked each of his betas in the face and made sure they were committed when they each agreed.

Stiles was in.

For now.

 

*******

_It didn’t feel right this time._

_Nothing ever felt right about the dream but things were noticeably different this time around and because of that Derek realized he could remember the other ones. The ones with the boy at the headstone and the **smell** and how everything went sideways and red. _

_The cemetery was how it looked now. The newer graves and flowers, older stones made older still by age and weather._

_The boy wasn’t at the stone Derek always saw him at. He made his way to it, to see if maybe he could find out whose it was._

_There was lightning in the distance as he walked, upright as a human, to the stone and the roll of thunder that accompanied it sounded incredibly, impossibly close._

_Derek ignored it._

_He got to the stone, afraid he’d look and it would be blank or would say something like his own name._

_It wasn’t his name._

_Derek felt his heart drop as he sank to his knees and finally saw whose grave the little boy was always hunched over._

_**Claudia Stilinski**._

_Another flash of lightning, thunder. Closer, louder._

_He got to his feet shakily and wanted to shift, to run. Wanted to escape but he couldn’t, he was rooted to the spot._

_Lightning._

_Lightning._

_Lightning._

_In a neat pattern between the stones that Derek followed with his eyes. It lit up the edge of the cemetery where it butted up against the woods now, instead of leaving a couple rows of space._

_Stiles’ face was illuminated._

_“It was you?” he called out._

_Stiles smiled sadly._

_“Why didn't you say anything? Did I hurt you?” Derek asked, confused and scared and feeling sick that he might have— that he _could_ have._

_Lightning._

_Deaton stood next to Stiles then and Derek knew._

_He finally understood._

 

*******

Derek knew where the Sheriff lived. Probably trick or treated there as a kid, but it’s not like he ever had a legitimate reason to be there. Standing on the porch and ringing the bell felt incredibly weird but he had to know.

The Sheriff opened the door and was somewhat surprised to see Derek there, if his expression was anything to go by. Derek realized then and there that he didn’t know what the Sheriff did or didn’t know.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Derek greeted him stiffly.

“John please, Derek,” he said and then gestured for him to come inside while he leaned back and hollered up the stairs. “Stiles!”

Derek heard a loud thump from the second floor, some rustling and then heavy, quick footsteps down the staircase. His hair was in a disarray, clearly not ready for the day, and he was wearing a pair of faded track pants and a t-shirt that looked about two sizes too small for him. Derek was surprised to see that under the layers he wore he was fit and had some muscle on his lithe frame. He finally saw more of the tattoos that Stiles kept hidden with long plaid shirts or hoodies and was surprised to see long, multi-lined waves, almost like geometric patterns in the vein of old Windows screensavers. They weaved over his skin and disappeared under the fabric of his shirt, disappointingly.

“Derek, everything okay?” Stiles asked, confused.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Derek said, eyes darting between Stiles and his father and somewhat put off by his reaction to Stiles.

John got the hint and clapped his hands. “I’m going to work now, call me if you need anything. Remember your wards,” he said, pointing at Stiles on his way out. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“You remember _your_ wards!” he called after his father who waved back as if to say ‘yeah, yeah’. Stiles shut the door and paused for a second before turning to face Derek. “He knows, just so you know.”

“Everything?”

Stiles shrugged. “Nothing I’ve gone through has been a secret from him and when I came back he had to know why and what the town is getting into.”

Derek considered this. “Makes sense, I suppose.”

“I don’t want him to get caught up in this, if possible. The police force here obviously can’t handle… whatever this turns out to be. But he wants to know and I can’t lie to him,” Stiles explained, with a hint of hesitation in his voice.

Derek nodded. “I get it. It’s fine. I wasn’t sure how much he was aware of so it’s good to know.”

Stiles seemed relieved by that but it was short lived as he pulled himself up and a resigned expression settled on his face. “So you figured it out.”

“I don’t know _what_ I figured out,” Derek replied, and his voice got hard as he remembered waking up to confusion and anger after his dream.

“Can we sit down?” Stiles asked, nodding to the living room. Derek shrugged and sat in the arm chair while Stiles sat on the edge of the couch, almost close enough to touch Derek’s knee. He resisted the urge to stand up and pace or to pull his body back as far as he could.

Stiles looked down at his hands, curling and uncurling each finger until Derek cleared his throat and he looked up, worried expression leaving a crease in his forehead.

“Well?” Derek asked.

“I did something really bad, Derek,” Stiles started, taking Derek off guard. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What do you remember?”

“About what?” Derek asked slowly.

“About the night in the cemetery you’ve been dreaming about.” Derek’s breath caught in his chest and he gripped the arm of the chair tightly. “It’s my fault you don’t remember, you know. It was my idea.”

“What was?” Derek asked quietly.

Stiles looked down and Derek could feel a wave of sadness radiating from him. “To hide your memories.”

Derek felt like he’d been punched in the gut and he breathed deep to keep his control. “Explain,” he ground out, voice dangerously low.

“You were a new alpha and I was a fairly new spark. My abilities really started coming out after my mom died. I was there that night, at the cemetery.”

“You were the boy at the headstone,” Derek filled in and Stiles nodded.

“I wasn’t supposed to be and you were in the wrong place at the wrong ti—“

“I attacked you.” Derek felt dread start to sprout and take hold inside himself.

“Yes, but it wasn’t your fault,” Stiles insisted. “I shouldn’t have been there, I shouldn’t have—“

“And I shouldn’t have attacked you!” Derek yelled and Stiles curled in on himself, for the first time showing something other than cockiness or confidence around him. “As a born wolf I know better.”

“The connection was made then and there, between us,” Stiles said lowly, voice muffled into his chest but Derek heard him just fine.

“What connection?”

“Between alpha and emissary.” Derek snorted and Stiles looked up, eyes sharp and intense. “You can say whatever you want about anything else but this I know to be true because it has guided my whole life to this point. It was because of that reason that I had Deaton mask your memories.”

And the hits just kept coming. “Deaton?”

“It wasn’t his idea, it was mine. But I didn’t know how to do it,” Stiles explained. “It’s not his fault, either.”

“Why in the hell would you ever think—“

Stiles surged to his feet. “Because I could feel how lost you were!” he yelled. “I could feel it when you attacked me and we connected! Was it the way I wanted to find my pack? No! But I wasn’t about to let you have that guilt hanging over your head on top of everything else, Derek!”

“Do you understand how fucked up this is?” Derek asked, running a hand through his hair. His mind was racing, trying to figure out how everything pieced together now.

“Look, I can’t take it back. I can’t go back in time and change anything that’s already happened. Your mind’s been fighting off the blanket on its memories for a while now, it was only a matter of time.”

“So that makes it okay?”

“No! Of course not. But I’m trying to explain to you why. And maybe help you realize why you don’t trust Deaton and maybe someday you’ll understand I did it because I wanted you to be a great alpha. But —“

“How can I be great when I don’t even know who’s got my back?” Derek replied flatly. Stiles winced. “And how can I stand knowing you knew all of this for all these years and didn’t tell me? That you went ahead and made the decision to be my emissary even though I don’t want one?”

Derek thought he saw Stiles’ chin waver for a second but he steeled himself and lifted his head, looked Derek in the eye. “All I can do is apologize for the mistakes of the past and move on to try to make corrections in the future. If that means my penance is seeing this out and moving on then so be it.”

Derek stood up and shrugged. “Great. Because it will be. I don’t trust Deaton, never have. And now I trust you even less.”

He heard Stiles’ shallow inhale that he tried to keep silent but Derek didn’t care. Turned and walked out of the house without looking back, with images of a small boy covered in blood under his paws playing through his mind like a movie reel.

 

*******

Stiles communicated to Derek via Scott for a couple weeks, wisely avoiding the pack house. Derek knew his betas were curious about what happened but he wasn’t ready to share that part of himself yet, if ever. Stiles must not have told Scott, either, because he smelled of confusion and hurt every time he relayed info from his best friend to his alpha.

Derek knew Scott was holding a candle for his best friend to join the pack but he didn’t have the heart to tell Scott it would never happen. He didn’t have the balls, either. Scott’s trust in him was hard-won and he was the last beta to join the pack, despite being the first to be turned.

A rogue alpha passing through town bit him and Derek sought him out as soon as he sensed him, fought bitterly with him throughout teaching him control. After this long he didn’t think he had to worry about Scott leaving the pack, not with everything so settled, but with the alpha pack coming to disrupt their relatively calm existence Derek wasn’t sure how any of them would react.

Derek argued with himself for days, went back and forth on every single thought he had until he felt like he was chasing his own tail. The final straw came when Scott arrived at the house, fresh from a shift at Deaton’s, carrying a bag full of protection satchels the pack was to scatter around the property.

“They’re supposed to send out some kind of low grade repellent to anything supernatural trying to make their way into the area. Something about the mix of herbs and a reverse location spell that will mess with the nervous system a little,” Scott explained, handing them out to everyone.

“Whoa,” Erica muttered as she rolled one around in her hand. It was no bigger than her palm but her eyes were unfocused and she shook her head, as if trying to re-orient herself.

“Stiles said he would have come to do them himself but uh…” Scott trailed off, looking at Derek. “He wants to know if he can come out and do some wards on the property, though, to set up the wards. Is that okay?”

Derek nodded. “That’s fine. Tell him to come whenever it’s convenient for him.”

Scott nodded. “Okay. Or you could tell him your—“ Derek snarled and stormed out of the house. “Self.”

“Guess we’re putting these out on our own,” Derek heard Isaac say sarcastically as he walked away from the house, shedding his clothes as he went.

The outer boundaries needed patrolling anyway.

 

*******

When Stiles came to do the wards he asked that the whole pack observe him to know where he was putting them, what they looked like, smelled like, felt like when the werewolves got close to them. He needed them to know just how strong and weak they were, for different reasons.

When he arrived at the house Stiles knocked and waited to be let in by Erica who pulled him into a quick sideways hug when he stepped inside and it surprised Derek. He grit his teeth and didn’t acknowledge him, though.

“Derek, it would be beneficial for you to come, as well,” Stiles said, more formal than Derek expected from him.

He wanted to argue that it would be fine, he was the alpha and his betas could tell him but Stiles was standing so straight and rigid, tenseness radiating off of him and he was so careful not to look Derek in the eye. He was trying to go backwards with their relationship and take the traditional route that most emissaries approached with their pack alphas, instead.

It pissed him off.

Stiles couldn’t just turn this on and off with Derek and pretend like nothing happened.

He stood slowly and stared Stiles down who still didn’t meet his eyes, keeping them focused more on Derek’s chest instead.

“Fine.”

Stiles relaxed minimally but once they were traipsing through the woods, following a chattering Stiles with his bag of tricks, he was almost back to his usual self Derek was used to. Scott walked with him, asking questions and keeping the constant chatter going until Stiles indicated to stop.

“I’m going to be setting up these wards in coronation with the ley lines that pack territory runs on,” Stiles explained as he crouched at the base of a tree and got his equipment out.

Which turned out to be a small jar of wormwood and a knife.

“That’s all you need to protect this place?” Isaac asked skeptically, voicing Derek’s own thoughts.

“This isn’t foolproof. Putting up wards helps to repel people or things we don’t want here and a lot of it has to do with the intent behind the wards. It acts kind of like…” Stiles seemed to think for a second. “Imagine the smelliest gym bag in the world was locked in a car for four days and you had to get into it. Odds are you’re going to avoid getting in, if at all possible. That’s kind of how they’ll work. I’ll put up stronger protection as we move inward towards the house but this is the basic level.”

Stiles got to work, carving a symbol into the tree. He handled the knife easily and his strokes were clean and neat in the bark. Derek was pretty sure he heard Stiles whispering a thank you to the tree as he worked which, deep down, he respected.

Once the symbol was carved Stiles turned the knife on himself and started carving the same pattern into the palm of his hand. Derek could feel the pack collectively recoil and Scott even stepped forward but Stiles started speaking softly under his breath while he pressed his palm to the carving, staining it with his own blood. It sounded Gaelic, perhaps, but Derek couldn’t be sure.

A light glow started growing under Stiles’ palm and the magic must have taken because Derek immediately felt the air around him shift and change, pressing up against him like a barrier. But he could feel it as Stiles intended it, for protection. He wondered how it would feel to someone on the other side who wasn’t in the pack.

Once Stiles lifted his palm, self-satisfied grin on his face, he took a pinch of wormwood from the jar and threw it on the carving, as well.

“Acts as kind of a sealant,” Stiles explained before anyone could ask. “As long as some of my blood is soaked into the tree the ward will have _some_ power but it lasts longer with the wormwood.”

“Dude, that is so _cool_!” Scott exclaimed, thumping his friend on the back. Erica threw her arm around Stiles’ shoulder as they started for the next point and even Boyd and Isaac looked impressed while they followed.

Derek grumbled under his breath and started walking, as well.

 

*******

“I think I’ve got a couple more in me for today,” Stiles said after almost two hours and twelve ward points later. They’d done almost an entire loop of the immediate outer circle around the pack house. The wards made Derek feel the same every time the glow started under Stiles’ hand but with that Derek could also see that it was taking a little longer for the magic to respond for Stiles and how tired he was looking. Not to mention that he had to keep poking at the mark on his hand to make it bleed and it was red and angry looking now.

Derek absolutely didn’t want to take some of his pain or march him back to the house and bandage him up. Yeah, that didn’t sound convincing even in Derek’s own head.

“When you guys step out of bounds of the ward you’ll probably notice a slight difference when you cross over them. I can’t really explain it, but think of it like a warning system in your own head that you’ve passed out of protected land,” Stiles said, carving slower now that he was working with one hand almost exclusively.

“When the ward takes to the tree?” Erica started, speaking slowly. Stiles nodded for her to continue. “It reminds me of when my grandma used to do canning and when the cans sealed you could hear the pop from the ones that took.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Stiles said, grinning widely. Erica looked proud of herself and Boyd patted her on the back. Erica wasn’t stupid by any means but once she became a werewolf she went from being an epileptic who was either made fun of or looked over entirely to sex on heels who got the attention of everyone at first and then was whispered about behind her back. She did well in school but both sides of the change taught her to keep her mouth shut instead of speaking out. Stiles may not have known what that tiny remark meant to Erica but Derek did.

If Derek weren’t lost in his thoughts he might have noticed someone approaching from outside the wards and slipping in front of them by way of the ward Stiles had yet to finish. He was a werewolf Derek didn’t know and he grinned, flashing his fangs at them. “If you losers thought these puny marks would protect you you’re so fucked.”

Derek beta shifted immediately, a reflex when it came to protecting his pack. His betas flanked him, also shifted, but Stiles stood in front of them all and held a hand up behind him, as if to keep them away.

“I’ve got this,” Stiles mumbled under his breath but Derek still heard him.

So did the new werewolf who laughed at him, blue eyes flashing in the evening light. “Hale, this is your guard dog now? A little scrawny, isn’t he?”

Derek could feel Stiles bristle but he kept his stance and didn’t take the bait. Unfortunately he also felt how tired Stiles was from the wards and worried he was going to watch this kid get his throat sliced open in front of them all.

Derek moved to stand in front of Stiles who tried to edge out from behind him but Derek grabbed his arm and kept him still.

“You’re on Hale pack land and not invited. I suggest you leave right now or be forcibly removed,” Derek declared.

“Deucalion’s gonna give me a place in his pack once I bring him your head, know that?” the werewolf said, sounding disgustingly gleeful. “I’ll be a _king_!”

“I see you more as a court jester,” Stiles piped up and Isaac snorted. Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I can leave you to last, little emissary. How would you like that?” the werewolf taunted, shifting back and forth on his feet but he was telegraphing his moves and becoming too cocky.

“You could try,” Stiles replied. “Pretty sure Deucalion doesn’t want pissants in his pack, though, so keep dreaming.”

Derek squeezed Stiles’ arm as a warning for him to shut up but he felt Stiles poke him in the back with his other hand instead.

The werewolf snarled and he lunged at Derek, claws out and swinging wildly. Derek pushed Stiles to the side while he easily fended off the werewolf. The rest of the pack fanned out around Derek and took attempted blows from him as well.

Derek couldn’t put his finger on exactly what went wrong. Maybe it was the fact that the werewolf was a total idiot and they let their guards down. Maybe they were feeling too safe from the wards Stiles was putting up but hadn’t yet finished. Maybe it just wasn’t their day but something went very, very wrong.

One second Derek was watching Stiles out of the corner of his eye to make sure he didn’t try to jump in the fray and the next Boyd was howling and clutching at his stomach on the ground. Stiles was up like a shot and running around the melee to get to him. Derek roared, a sound that shook the forest around them and the werewolf’s eyes got wide and terrified.

Scott and Isaac stood on guard between Erica who ran to Boyd and Derek and the werewolf, who was looking around him as if for an escape plan.

But there wasn’t one.

Derek would remember the sound his body made when he twisted the werewolf’s head clean off his body. He dropped the still-twitching mess to the forest floor and was kneeling at Boyd’s side immediately. Stiles had already ripped his shirt off and exposed the mess of his abdomen.

“He isn’t going to heal this on his own, we have to get him to the clinic,” Stiles instructed. He tossed his keys to Scott. “Get the Jeep.”

“My car is faster,” Derek tried to argue but Stiles shook his head.

“Mine is bigger and it’s had blood all over it before.”

_Save that conversation for another day,_ Derek thought as he and Isaac lifted Boyd as carefully as they could to carry him out of the woods. Luckily they were almost back at the house and the trek wasn’t too far.

Derek wasn’t sure he could trust the Jeep to get them all there from the looks of how old it was but Stiles handled her masterfully and called out instructions to staunch the bleeding while he sped off to Deaton’s.

 

*******

They burst into the clinic, possibly busting the lock on the backdoor in the process. No one cared if they had.

“Lay him on the table,” Stiles instructed with authority. “Call Deaton and give me my bag.”

Derek laid Boyd out, wincing when his claws dug into Derek’s shoulder where he was gripping him. The pain was making Boyd struggle with his shift and his eyes flashed with every stab of pain he felt, but Stiles stepped up to him seemingly without concern.

He accepted his bag from Scott and started digging through it for vials of herbs of some kind and spread out what looked like various charms and trinkets to anyone who didn’t know what they were for.

“Do something!” Erica yelled, surging forward. Stiles didn’t waver as Scott and Isaac stepped forward to hold her back.

“Take her out, restrain her if necessary,” Stiles said quietly but everyone heard. Scott and Isaac looked to Derek who nodded. Erica fought them the whole way, biting and kicking but they managed to get her out of the room and to somewhere else in the clinic. Derek closed the door behind them for good measure.

When he turned back to the table Stiles was holding something against Boyd’s chest with both hands. He was whispering something under his breath, too quiet for Derek to hear and when Derek stepped closer he saw something starting to glow under Stiles’ hands, a different color from when he was putting up the wards. Boyd was still shifting and his claws came distractingly close to Stiles but he didn’t flinch or try to duck away.

Derek circled the table slowly, feeling the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up as the energy filled the room. Coming around to face Stiles he could see Stiles’ eyes were glowing yellow, the same shade as Boyd’s. He could feel the exchange between his beta and Stiles, and it grew stronger as the light under Stiles’ hands did.

Boyd was calm and his eyes were closed, relaxed into human form once more. Derek reached out to take his hand and started leaching some of his pain, further easing his tension. Stiles spared him a glance and the simple action made Derek feel exposed.

“This okay?” he asked, wondering if he was interfering with Stiles’ process.

Stiles just nodded and ducked his head to focus on Boyd. It was only a few minutes later that the glow under his hands started to dim and Stiles was able to pull away, breathing heavily. He turned to the vials he pulled out of his bag and mixed a few herbs together with some water in a bowl he snagged out of Deaton’s cupboards. His hands shook as he brought it to Boyd and Derek stepped in to help his beta lift his head to drink it.

Boyd made a face but he drank it all down and then slumped back against the table. Stiles grabbed some dog blankets from a cupboard and spread them over Boyd while Derek kept leaching the lingering pain from him.

“He’s going to be okay,” Stiles said, loud enough for Scott, Isaac and Erica to hear. Seconds later, she was the first one through the door with the other two close behind. They crowded around Boyd, touching him and reassuring each other he was okay.

Derek touched each of his betas in turn, rubbing their cheeks and shoulders, solidifying the knowledge that they were okay. For now, anyway.

He stepped back to let the betas do their thing and felt Stiles’ eyes on him. He looked up and he was being glared at. The mood in the room shifted in that second and the other wolves looked up at Stiles, as well.

“I need to talk to you,” Stiles said in a hard voice. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Derek nodded to Scott who already smelled upset and closed the door to the room when he followed, although it wouldn’t do much to cover any sound.

Stiles was waiting for him in Deaton’s office, lit only by a couple soft lamps, pacing. Derek stepped in and closed that door, as well. Next thing he knew he was being pinned up against it by Stiles who was far stronger than he came off.

“What the _hell_ is your problem?” Stiles yelled. Derek shoved him away gently but Stiles surged back, right into Derek’s face. “I told you I had it!”

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” Derek snapped back. Stiles’ eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in a disbelieving look.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause _look what happened_! I am _not_ your enemy, Derek! I need you to get that through your thick skull!”

Derek felt the sting of Stiles’ words and the reality of truth in what he was saying. He let his own desire to protect his pack override the harsh realization that he might not be enough for them in this.

That he needed Stiles for whatever was coming.

Admitting that felt like suffocation for Derek, but maybe that was just the rage swirling all around him in the room, coming off Stiles in waves. He felt like he was drowning in the anger Stiles was projecting at him and the helplessness Stiles felt at not being allowed to do his duty.

What he was born to do. Just like Derek could no more change that he was a born wolf, Stiles was a born emissary.

“Say something!” Stiles bellowed.

There was a spark and a pop and suddenly they were in darkness in Deaton’s office. Derek could feel the residual buzz in the air from Stiles’ power and his suspicions were confirmed by Stiles himself.

“Whoops,” he murmured sheepishly. “Been a while since something like that happened.”

Derek opened the office door and found Scott and Isaac on the other side, looking worried.

“Everything okay in here?” Scott asked, looking around Derek to Stiles. Derek looked back as well and caught Stiles’ eye.

“Stiles? Everything okay in here?” Derek asked. If Stiles looked surprised he didn’t show it but Derek was sure he could feel it. Wishful thinking, likely.

“Yeah,” Stiles piped up. “I think we’re getting on the same page now.”

“Deaton’s here,” Isaac said behind Scott. “He’s checking on Boyd.”

“I’m coming,” Stiles said and brushed by Derek muttering, “This isn’t over.”

Derek was beginning to think he meant that in more ways than one.

 

*******

The next day Scott hijacked Stiles before he could meet with Derek about strategy. Wanted some best friend time, he said.

Derek couldn’t help it if Scott’s voice traveled, or if the living room was directly over the weights in the basement where Derek was working out and he could hear everything, or if Derek stopped everything he was doing to shamelessly eavesdrop on their conversation.

Yeah.

“Dude, what was that last night?” Scott asked, voice insistent like he’d been pestering Stiles over text about it all night, which Derek knew for a fact he had.

Stiles made an unsure sound, as if he didn’t know how to answer.

“I thought you said you had everything under control, like your spark and stuff?” Scott pushed.

“I did. I _do_. It’s different saying it and having it be right, you know? I just… the situation and I was _so angry_ and—“

“Derek,” Scott interjected.

“Yes! Derek,” Stiles agreed and Derek bit his lip, feeling guilty for listening. “He drives me crazy.”

Scott snickered then and there was a muffled thump, as if Stiles smacked Scott on the arm or across the chest. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to, asshole,” Stiles replied.

Once the laughing stopped Scott spoke up again. “He’s not a bad guy, you know. Like, as an alpha he’s come a long way but as a person he’s totally different than when I first met him.”

Derek felt his cheeks redden and he ducked his head, even though he was alone. It took years for Derek to earn Scott’s respect and that unprompted bit of praise was reward enough for him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stiles replied softly. “Not that it’ll matter much once this is over.”

“Will you stay in Beacon Hills?” Scott asked, sounding sad. Stiles made another unsure noise. “I don’t want you to leave again.”

“I don’t either, Scott, but I don’t know if I’ll have a choice. I don’t know if I can take knowing I’m meant to be here, with this pack, and watching from the outside, you know?”

And just like that Derek went from feeling proud of himself to guilty about the situation. There was silence from the vent and Derek imagined Scott was giving his best friend a sympathetic smile or a brotherly punch on the shoulder, something.

“But!” Stiles said brightly, breaking the downer tone of the conversation. “I’m not here for any of that. I’ve got shop talk with Derek.”

Scott laughed. “I’ll go find him.”

Derek stepped to the middle of the room and picked up some weights to pretend like he wasn’t listening the whole time.

 

*******

“Absolutely _not_!” Derek exploded, pushing up from the table so hard he moved it across the floor.

Stiles sat at the end of the table with his arms crossed and lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t back down. “I warned you before I told you.”

“I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to suggest —to even _think—“_

“Allison isn’t Kate.”

The words cut through Derek’s rage like a knife through warm butter. “She’s a hunter,” he ground out.

“Allison and Chris go by their own rules now. They have no connection to Gerard or Kate and are as eager as we are to find her, especially, and put her away.”

“I want to put her _down_ ,” Derek snarled, getting in Stiles’ face who didn’t flinch but moved his head backwards with an unimpressed look.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t contest to such action if it arises,” Stiles replied. He relaxed, dropped his defensive posture and leaned forward into Derek’s space so he stood up straight again. “Look, I knew you’d be resistant to this idea but I brought it up anyway. Allison and Chris are on our side. Your side, I promise. But I know you have issues with trust so I set up a Skype call with them, okay? They’re not coming back to Beacon Hills without your permission and not if they don’t have to. You have final say.”

Stiles sighed. “Considering that all the rules are fucked up right now already with hunters and werewolves teaming up, don’t you think it’s worth considering an alliance on the other side? If they can give us tactical insight into how Kate might play this it’s worth it, don’t you think? Not to mention that I know for a fact Allison has put other hunters in their place when they overstep their bounds and try to follow in Kate’s crazy footsteps to make their mark.”

“Oh?”

“Watched her put an arrow in a hunter’s leg when he was trying to set up a beta for no reason at all. He was conveniently turned into the police in Seattle with some hefty weapons charges,” Stiles explained with a shrug.

“I don’t like this,” Derek said but his tone was quieter.

Stiles pushed forward with his hands on his knees, into Derek’s bubble, expression open. “I know I’m pushing you into a lot of things you never wanted or expected to do but I promise that I only want everyone in this pack to come out of this thing safe and alive, okay?”

Derek looked into Stiles’ eyes, really looked at him for once, and felt like he was drowning in honey and whiskey. Derek could feel the heaviness of the sincerity Stiles felt and how it projected out of him like a net, dragging Derek down. He wanted Derek to believe him so badly, to just do good.

Isn’t that all Derek wanted at one time, too?

Derek reached a finger out, realizing how close they were when he brushed over Stiles’ knee. Just once, lightly.

“Okay.”

The grin that spread across Stiles’ face was almost reward enough for the walls of his carefully constructed life being tested.

 

 

*******

The Skype call was tense, to say the least. Derek didn’t like not being able to meet them in person but he liked that they wouldn’t come to Beacon Hills without his okay. So he made do and tried to get as good a read as he could from them.

Chris had been raised old school, under his father, but with Allison’s influence and becoming more aware of the complexities in the lives of the creatures they hunted he’d stepped back and reassessed. Derek could feel Stiles’ eyes boring into him when Chris said that but Derek ignored him.

Allison was polite and respectful of Derek but she was definitely more relaxed than Chris. She spoke with Stiles, knowing he was in the room, even though he wasn’t on camera with Derek and made it clear that she was friends with supernatural creatures. Derek wasn’t sure if emissaries ever landed on hunters’ shit lists but Derek got the sense that she could and would kill every last person who tried to lay a finger on Stiles.

“I can tell you this,” Chris said as the call was winding down and the sizing up had come to an end. “Kate was last seen in and around Seattle and then next in Oregon.”

“Oregon?” Stiles asked, darting around the table to hover by Derek’s side so he could shove his head into the camera frame. “When?”

“Couple weeks back, it seems. She hasn’t surfaced since so she might be laying low, waiting for you.”

Derek felt his stomach plummet at the thought of someone waiting to ambush Stiles.

“What about my grandmother?” Stiles asked.

“I went ahead and put the word out to keep an eye on her, don’t worry, Stiles,” Allison piped up. “I don’t think anyone could get near her house anyway.”

Stiles laughed but it was quieter than usual. “That’s true. I set up a few nasty traps before I left, too.”

“We’ll make sure our people keep watch on her, Stiles,” Chris assured. “Besides, Kate doesn’t have an agenda with your grandmother so we’re pretty sure she’s low target, if at all.”

Stiles didn’t relax beside Derek but he nodded and moved away again.

“How long would it take you to get here?” Derek asked.

“Few days. Maybe a week at most. We’re finishing up some training in Texas right now but it shouldn’t take us long,” Chris replied.

Derek thought for a second, then nodded. “Okay. I’d like to invite you and Allison to Beacon Hills.”

“Thank you, Alpha Hale,” Chris responded formally and Derek felt his wolf accept the recognition from someone who should be an enemy. “We’ll be in touch through your em— Stiles. We’ll keep contact through Stiles.”

Derek didn't say anything about the slip up but heard Stiles’ heart speed up for a second before he slowed it down again, his outward appearance unchanged.

Derek disconnected the call and sat back in his chair. Stiles looked at him hopefully and Derek shrugged.

“There’ve been worse ideas,” Derek grumbled but Stiles grin was instant and he raised his arms in victory.

Derek’s eyes were drawn to the sliver of skin exposed by the movement and he caught sight of some ink on his abdomen. As soon as Stiles noticed what Derek was looking at he pulled his shirt down and coughed.

“Good, excellent. I’ll put them up at my house, then?”

 

*******

The more time Stiles spent at the house the more it smelled like him. The more the house smelled like him the more Derek got used to it and the idea of him leaving and the scent fading to nothing got difficult for him to think about.

His _pack_ was starting to smell like Stiles, and not just Scott. Boyd took an interest in watching how Stiles cast wards and Stiles began teaching him simple ones he could use in the house to do things like create a small light or, with a little bit of blood, to put up a shield for protection.

“It won’t be very strong and it feeds off your own energies so don’t wear that one out, especially in a fight,” Stiles instructed and Boyd took this advice with the utmost seriousness.

Erica persistently asked to see Stiles’ tattoos and to know what they meant but Stiles laughed her off every time. He continued to wear long sleeves and hoodies and, as far as Derek knew, he was the only one that saw the patterns on his arms so far.

“You just want to see me half-naked,” he teased, but there was a finality to his tone when he turned her down. Derek wanted to know what they meant, too, but couldn’t bring himself to ask. He didn’t even want to until one night, after a late dinner that Isaac cooked and insisted Stiles stay for as well, he told Erica she might see them “one day”. That seemed to mollify her, at least for the time being, but it intrigued Derek more.

When would that day come?

Stiles came to the house a few times a week to strengthen the wards and spells he cast around the house. He always asked Derek directly if he could come back the next time and gave a time, respecting the alpha’s say. Derek wanted to tell him he didn’t need permission to come by any longer but he couldn’t bring himself to see the inevitable pleased look in Stiles’ eyes and risk him thinking it meant more than it did.

Because it didn’t.

Derek swore it. To himself. In his head.

Stiles worked from Deaton’s office at the clinic and his own house, making contact with other emissaries and packs and trying to track the alpha pack as best he could. He voiced his frustrations at times during updates with Derek and tried to reassure the alpha that he was doing his best but he had concerns about their movements and what if they had a new emissary working for them? and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to — when Stiles got worked up like that Derek laid a hand on Stiles’ arm gently and immediately he calmed down, took a deep breath and bit his lip in a way that drew Derek’s attention to his lips and moles and face and then it was Derek who needed to be calmed.

Allison and Chris Argent were different than Derek was expecting. Allison was confident and strong, surprisingly unhardened from their line of work. She was quick to flash a grin and in no time had Scott wrapped around her little finger, in a way that made both Derek and her father roll their eyes.

Chris knew the realities of his business so he brought a more realistic approach to their duo. Despite that, though, he was open-minded and probably the most progressive hunter Derek ever encountered. Like night and day from his sister, who got off on inflicting as much pain as she could on everyone around her.

Chris wasn’t immune from her attacks, either, and this made Derek trust the man more so than anything Stiles told him about how they reworked their purpose when it came to hunting. Derek saw a man who needed to put an end to something, once and for all. Beyond that who knew? For the time being they were on the same path and that’s all that mattered.

Derek permitted them to come to the pack house and work with the betas on their fighting and to learn weapon training in case it came to it that they had to use whatever was at their disposal in a fight. Stiles’ comfort with using a handgun surprised Derek but as soon as he proved he could use one he put it down with clear distaste, mumbling that he preferred to work with the elements.

Derek caught his eye and he nodded at Stiles, noting his preference and felt a wave of appreciation from him in return.

They could both feel it building, the impending battle.

Neither of them spoke about what would come after.

 

*******

“I’m going to go run the perimeter,” Derek announced as he pushed back from the table and picked up his empty dinner plate.

“I should get going too, got to get some gas before everything’s closed. Thanks for dinner, Isaac,” Stiles said as he got up. He picked up everyone’s plates and followed Derek where they danced around each other to get to and from the dishwasher. The betas started cleaning off the rest of the table and putting leftovers away, what few there were.

“You’re back tomorrow?” Derek asked casually, following Stiles to the front door.

“I have some follow up calls to do to other packs, see who I can get in touch with but I can stop by. Is there something—“

“No, just asking,” Derek said quickly, not bothering to put shoes on before he stepped out onto the front porch.

Stiles jammed his sneakers on, hopping out the door as he wrestled with one, and then put a hand on Derek’s shoulder tentatively. “I’ll be here,” Stiles said.

Derek tensed for a second, then relaxed under Stiles’ hand. “Okay. See you tomorrow.” He jumped off the steps and trotted to the treelike, still able to hear Stiles’ good-natured grumbling, “Showoff.”

He grinned as he disappeared into the trees.

 

*******

Twenty minutes later Derek was running the border of pack land when he felt a growing sense of unease. If he were in human form he’d rub his chest and wonder if he had heartburn for the first time in his life.

The feeling grew stronger the closer he ran to the edge of town, where a few stores trailed off and the interstate picked up. He got flashes of images, like a flickering TV when a storm disrupted service.

The gas station.

Thick tires.

Blue light.

Red eyes.

Red hoodie.

Derek’s instincts took over and he ran faster than he had, maybe ever. His breath came out in harsh pants and a low, constant rumbling growl echoed in his ears until he smelled gasoline and oil and rubber.

He crouched on the embankment overlooking the gas station, lit up like Christmas. He heard voices, the occasional raised tone, but he had to get closer to be able to know what was going on. He wanted to charge in but it could be an ambush and he couldn’t even howl for the betas if that was the case.

He stayed shifted as he crept down the embankment, careful of rocks and sliding dirt under his paws. He stuck to the edge of the building, cast in shadows until he peeked around and saw Stiles’ blue Jeep, the only vehicle in the parking lot.

Stiles was standing by the Jeep and within touching distance of a larger, angrier man. One of the alphas.

“Trust me, you’ve got the wrong guy. You’re not going to get anything by taking me or doing anything to me, if you even get that far,” Stiles said, all cockiness and attitude that was snottier and more challenging than any way he’d ever spoken to Derek. He was _baiting_ him.

“I disagree, so let’s find out what happens anyway,” the alpha snarled and just like that shit went to eleven.

Derek felt his body shake with rage, crouching into attack position but then the alpha was advancing with his fangs dropped and claws reaching for Stiles’ neck and Stiles’ hands were up in the air, one ahead and one behind and he bellowed out, “NO!” and just like that the alpha was across the parking lot, shaking his head where he landed on the pavement and Derek was frozen in place.

Stiles immediately wrenched his door open and Derek expected to see him race away in the old beast he called a vehicle but instead he pulled a baseball bat from behind the seat. Derek strained against what was holding him back. He could feel the magic around him and it smelled sweetly of Stiles, his own personal brand of protection. Instead of feeling enraged at being forcibly held back he whimpered, terrified he was going to watch Stiles bleed out in front of him in his haste to protect Derek.

Stiles showed no hesitation or fear as he sauntered up to the alpha who was struggling to his feet. He wound up and swung the bat at the alpha’s head. It connected with a satisfying crunch but it was the screaming as soon as it made contact that had Derek shivering in response. An alpha wouldn’t react like that to a regular bat.

But then, Stiles wasn’t a regular guy.

Derek could see a spreading redness from where the bat made connection with his head and not just blood. Whatever Stiles did spiderwebbed across his face and down his neck, making the alpha claw at his own face, trying to dig it out of his skin.

Stiles kept the bat at his shoulder but tucked under his neck as he pulled a knife out of his pocket and carved something into the palm of one hand. Derek could hear him whispering under his breath and there was a buzzing that rose and got stronger as Stiles dug into his hand, wincing from the pain and Derek _felt_ it, lifting his front left paw as it throbbed.

Stiles knelt quickly at the alpha’s head and pressed his bloody palm to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut while the alpha screamed until he was shrieking, writhing on the ground but unable to move or get his hands up further than his own neck.

Stiles was still holding the alpha’s head when Derek felt his restraints drop and he realized Stiles’ power was drifting. He shot to Stiles’ side and nosed at his shoulder, taking in Stiles’ face contorted in pain while the color drained from him. The alpha’s screams dropped off to the barest of whimpers, unconscious or possibly dying— Derek didn’t know which.

Finally Stiles gasped and jerked his hand back, collapsing to the ground, breathing heavily. The bat lay at his feet, seemingly innocuous, but Derek could feel the hum of magic radiating from it, along with the smell of mountain ash.

Clever emissary was clever.

The whole spectacle took less than three minutes but Derek felt like he’d aged ten years. He approached the alpha and growled down at him. His heartbeat was weak but he was still alive and Derek waited for him to wake.

He wanted to be able to tell him that Derek was the last thing he would ever see, that his last few moments on earth were of him being bested by a human with a baseball bat. He wanted to send him back to his pack with a message that the Hale pack would not cow to their threats or advancements.

Instead, when the alpha opened his eyes Derek’s red ones reflected back at him and he opened his mouth to scream or howl or cry but he never got to.

Derek ripped his throat out with his fangs with vicious enthusiasm, spitting bitter blood and flesh out on the ground.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered, reaching a hand out to him. Derek shifted in a second and knelt next to him, helping him to his feet, uncaring of his nudity. Stiles leaned against Derek’s bare chest for a second, hands splayed over his pecs, and breathed deeply as he got his bearings. Derek looked down at the tattoos he could see on Stiles’ hands and they were moving, rearranging themselves in a new pattern. He realized Stiles’ power was working to protect and re-energize him.

“I’ve got to get you back to the house,” Derek said but Stiles shook his head.

“You have to take care of him,” Stiles nodded to the alpha. “That one was Ennis. They already know he’s dead. They’re pissed.”

“How—“ Derek started, confused. Stiles smiled tiredly and held his palm up, with a bloody rune etched into it and then tapped his head. “Jesus.” Derek grabbed at Stiles’ plaid shirt and ripped a strip off, ignoring Stiles’ weak protest, and wrapped it around his hand.

He walked him backwards to the Jeep and leaned him against it. Stiles didn’t resist but didn’t do much of anything, really. Derek waited long enough for Stiles’ eyes to focus on him and for a nod that he would be okay, then he dragged the body into the woods and made quick work of it. He didn’t take any pleasure in dismembering a body, even if it was that of an enemy, but it had to be done. He scattered the parts as much as he could, knowing most of them would be taken care of by wildlife within days.

When he got back to the Jeep he had a moment of panic because Stiles and the bat were gone. He looked up and saw him in the store, talking to the clerk.

“Fuck,” Derek muttered. _The clerk_. Stiles walked unsteadily out of the gas station a minute later, and said loud enough for him to hear but still hoarsely, “It’s fine. Memory displacement charm.”

Derek met him halfway across the parking lot and caught him before he crumpled to the ground. He felt cold under Derek’s hands, and he was almost white from over-exerting himself. Even Stiles’ heartbeat, normally as quick as his mouth, was slower than normal.

“Shit,” Derek said, shaking Stiles a little as he carried him to the Jeep. “Stiles, what do I do? Take you to Deaton?”

“Jus’ need t’ sleep,” Stiles slurred, eyes closed. “Be ‘kay.”

Derek didn’t necessarily take his words as a good sign but once he loaded him into the Jeep he didn’t take him to his father’s or to Deaton.

He took him home.

 

*******

Everyone in the house kept half their attention on the slow, but steady, heartbeat of the emissary on the second floor. Scott offered his room up as soon as Derek carried Stiles through the door and as much as Derek’s wolf whined at that Derek knew it was for the best.

He didn’t need Stiles’ scent _everywhere_ in the house, after all.

Twelve hours and a visit from Deaton later, however, Stiles had yet to wake and Derek was getting antsy. He relayed to Deaton as best he could about what happened when he arrived at the house.

Deaton nodded and disappeared into Scott’s room for well over an hour. Derek and the betas were gathered at the bottom of the stairs when he came back down, looking exhausted but not as much as Stiles did the night before.

“He’ll be fine. He needs sleep and a decent meal. Give him a few days to gather his strength and he’ll be back on his feet,” Deaton declared on his way out and the pack collectively relaxed. “Oh, and Derek? He wants to see you.”

 

*******

Derek could barely make out the lump under Scott’s blankets that was supposed to be Stiles. It was dark in the room but Stiles was curled up in a ball and seemed so small to Derek, too quiet. He turned back to leave, not wanting to wake him but Stiles stirred.

“Derek? Come back,” he said quietly, voice cloudy with sleep.

Derek crossed the room and stood awkwardly by Scott’s bed. Stiles uncurled and strained for the bedside lamp but Derek beat him to it, flipping the switch and casting them both in soft light. Derek suppressed the urge to whine at how wan and frail Stiles looked but his face must have betrayed him because Stiles chuckled at him.

Even his tattoos seemed lighter than normal and when Derek stared at them, the ones he could see, they were still moving like the night before.

“Don’t mourn me yet, alpha, there’s still a lot of fight left in these bones,” Stiles said, sounding as exhausted as he looked but there was a small smile on his face. Derek’s heart clenched at Stiles referring to him as ‘alpha’.

Derek cleared his throat. “Deaton said you wanted to see me?”

“I need you to know what happened last night. I saw what was in Ennis’ head, what their plans are—“

“That’s what you were doing?” Derek cut in, half aghast and half impressed.

“I don’t like to do it very often since, well,” Stiles gestured to himself.

“You shouldn’t have done it at all,” Derek said, shaking his head.

“It was the only way I could know what they were planning. He would have been able to withstand any torture if you tried to chain him up and his pack would have advanced their plans. This way they’re weakened, even if only a little. One less alpha to deal with,” Stiles explained.

Derek crossed his arms, wanting to argue but he knew it would be useless. “So what’s the plan?”

“Theirs is an ambush on the house, much like last time but with more teeth and claws than fire. Was supposed to be in a couple days but we’ve gained ourselves a bit of extra time now that Ennis is dead. They don’t have allied packs who would be willing to come help them but they’ve managed to collect a few other betas in the meantime, who are looking to advance in the ranks so there are some wildcards in the mix but they don’t have any chance of actually joining the alpha pack. _They_ do the choosing, not the other way around. They’re just as likely to kill for the fun of killing instead of for the power any strong beta or new alpha could have. If the one who attacked us before managed to actually gain anything from you he basically would have been a sacrificial lamb to the cause,” Stiles explained.

“What about Kate?” Derek asked hesitantly.

Stiles shrugged and that one action seemed to take as much out of him as if he’d done sprints with the ‘wolves. Derek sat down beside him on the bed and reached out to take his hand, to get a sense of his pain. It was mostly exhaustion but there was some aching in his bones and muscle strain Derek could feel so he started to leach the pain and Stiles relaxed into the pillows, eyes fluttering.

“I didn’t get a sense of her or Gerard. I don’t know if Ennis wasn’t in the know about her or if he didn’t care. He was part of the alphas, yes, but he was more of a solider for Duecalion than anything. Maybe she only put the bug in Deucalion’s ear, maybe she’s directing him from afar, maybe she’ll pop out of the woodwork like a psychotic clown, I don’t know,” Stiles continued speaking with his eyes closed, although he was slurring a bit from the effects of Derek’s pain management.

“They don’t know we know this yet?” Derek asked quietly, monitoring how close Stiles was to dropping off again.

He shook his head a little on the pillow. “They knew Ennis was dead because of the pack connection but didn’t know who killed him, not then. Shoulda kept an emissary around,” Stiles chided with a grin that was half grimace.

Stiles’ body was going slack and his head slumped toward his chest as he dropped into sleep. Derek held his hand for a few minutes longer than necessary. When he realized he laid Stiles hand on the bed gently and turned the lamp off.

“D’rek?” Stiles mumbled, and Derek wasn’t 100% sure if he was speaking consciously or in his sleep.

“Yeah?” he whispered back.

“Y’should keep a emis’ry,” Stiles breathed in such a quiet way that Derek was barely able to understand him.

He waited for Stiles to drop off for sure before he replied, “I know.”

 

*******

The next morning Stiles woke up after another full twelve hours of sleep and already looked at least half back to his normal self He got Scott to help him down the stairs and started inserting himself in the conversation about the upcoming confrontation, as if he was going to be involved.

When Derek pointed out he didn’t think it was wise for Stiles, not right now with him being as hurt as he was— well, it didn’t go well.

“I’ll show you ‘hurt’,” Stiles said crossly and Derek jumped out of his chair as if he sat on a tack.

“You asshole,” he grumbled and Stiles smiled. “Fine, I’ve learned trying to get you _not_ to do something is about as useful as putting two cats in a sack together but you _have to take it easy_ until then, okay? You’re already winded from that bit of voodoo you just did, I don’t want you getting killed because you can’t even stand up during this fight,” Derek lectured. Stiles listened with one eyebrow raised and the betas snickered at him but Stiles nodded his agreement.

“Fine, I agree,” Stiles replied easily and Derek felt like he won the battle already.

Huh.

With the extra time they were given thanks to Ennis’ death Stiles called in a favour from another friend, a banshee named Lydia Martin. When she arrived at the house from Stanford, where Stiles called her in from, Derek had to admit to himself that he was somewhat intimidated by her.

She was self-assured, held herself in such a way that made her appear at least half a foot taller than she really was and she was whip smart. She was confident, witty and when she looked at Derek with a sly smile on her face he felt like she knew way more about him than he knew about himself.

“So, uh. What are you, exactly?” Isaac asked, obviously nervous to be addressing her.

Lydia smiled and it was clear she was refraining from rolling her eyes. “Technically I’m a banshee but I’ve learned to channel the power into other avenues and be able to use my abilities physically. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to perception but it helps and I’ll do anything for Stiles.”

Stiles beamed at her from across the living room where he was laid out on the couch, a blanket over him as he dozed off and on all day. Derek felt a pang of jealously run through him at their clear comfort with each other and that they had history between each other. He didn’t want to know what kind and he had no right to, anyway.

_You keep telling yourself that,_ his mind taunted him.

Lydia turned out to be incredibly useful as the days passed and they got closer to what was coming up as battle day. Stiles knew the plans he got from Ennis but since they changed as soon as he died they no longer knew the actual attack date. Lydia was able to get a sense of what was coming and the buildup from the alpha pack who were holed up just outside of town in a warehouse.

Stiles set to work creating new wards and fireproofing the house and property as much as he could, and as much as his body would allow. The plan was to draw the alphas to a clearing in the preserve, away from as much of town and the house as possible but there was a chance things could go sideways and they wouldn’t take the bait. Derek grouched about Stiles over-exerting himself but at the same time was incredibly grateful that he was doing this for the pack, for him. It was just a house, Derek knew, and as long as the pack was safe that was all that mattered but the house was built into a new home for him and his betas. Losing it twice… he didn’t want to think about it.

“How much longer?” Derek grunted when Stiles finished a secondary ward on a tree at the official outer perimeter of the house he designated.

“It would go faster if you carried me,” Stiles joked but when Derek crouched for him to climb on his back he held up a hand. “Ha ha, no. Not serious.”

“You’re _seriously_ going to get carried out of here in 10 minutes whether you’re done or not. You shouldn’t be out this long anyway,” Derek complained.

Stiles put a hand on Derek’s arm and made him look at him. “You’re welcome,” he said sincerely because he knew it was his way of saying ‘thank you’ and making it sound like he was the grumpiest fucking werewolf in the world.

Derek got red and shuffled his feet in the leaves and dirt until Stiles grinned and continued his process.

He was done within 10 minutes.

 

*******

Derek permitted the Argents to stay at the house in the days leading up to the battle and had to admit that he felt better about them being there. They were good people and were working hard to change their family name, if not the name of all hunters. Stiles and Lydia also took up temporary residence at the pack house, too.

Stiles called his father to tell him to stay out of the woods, keep his deputies on high alert and not to hesitate to shoot. Derek could hear the worry in the Sheriff’s voice over the line, even as he told Stiles to stand strong and that his mother was proud of him. Derek didn’t need to see the look on Stiles’ face to know it felt like twisting around his heart because Derek could feel it in himself.

It was day break, too early for any sane person to be awake, but Derek was nursing a cup of coffee on the front step while the sun rose. He heard Stiles close the front door quietly and settle on the step beside him. Their arms and legs brushed lightly, making goosebumps break out across Derek’s skin under his Henley.

“Do you feel it?” Stiles asked, staring out across the property.

“Yeah,” Derek replied quietly. “Tomorrow.”

Stiles nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Neither of them said anything when their bodies somehow shifted closer together, pressing firmly and warming each other.

 

*******

There really wasn’t a good time for a duel to the death, especially when you didn’t have direct contact with your duelling partner.

Stiles stayed in contact with Lydia who was with Deaton, under strong protective enchantments to keep them safe. They waited for her signal, which came late in the afternoon, as the sky started to grow grey and heavy with ominous clouds.

“Seems apt, doesn’t it?” Stiles remarked with a touch of sarcasm in his tone as he stared out the windows. As much as it itched and set each of the werewolves’ teeth on edge, all the possible entrances to the house, bar the front door, were lined with mountain ash. Stiles was going to finish on the way out. He’d spent the last two days working with Deaton on securing weak spots in the wards while Derek and Boyd set up a rudimentary sprinkler system outside the house. Just in case.

Allison and her father left earlier in the day to stake out the location they were driving the alphas toward. A combination of ultrasonic emitters and a path of conveniently placed warding spells were set up to direct them right where the pack wanted them.

Stiles’ phone beeped, a text from Lydia.

“It’s time,” he said, looking up at the pack.

As Derek looked around at his betas he was again confronted with how young they all were. How unfair it was that his past was causing them to live through this.

Erica stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Derek’s midsection, squeezing him tight. Isaac and Scott followed, then Boyd. They embraced, rubbed against each other and calmed themselves. Stiles stood to the side, watching with a fond expression, until Scott reached out and pulled him into the smoosh. He didn’t protest but he didn’t relax into it either, until Derek worked a hand out to wrap around his shoulder. Stiles met Derek’s eyes over the crush of bodies and Derek felt something snap inside of him, letting go.

“All right, enough of this mushy shit. Let’s go kill some bad guys,” Isaac said, voice a bit muffled inside the group hug. They broke apart and Stiles grabbed his bag, slung it around his body while the betas stripped down in preparation to shift. Derek shrugged out of his shirt and dropped it to the ground.

Stiles watched, unabashed in his fascination in the process. Derek could tell he watched it with reverence, maybe a little envy. The betas ran out of the house and Stiles started to follow as if not realizing Derek wasn’t with them.

“Stiles?” Derek said quickly, reaching out to grab his hand.

Stiles looked back at him, confused. “What? What’s wrong?”

Derek shook his head. “Nothing. I just. I wanted to tell you. I trust you.”

Stiles froze, mouth slightly agape. He squeezed Derek’s hand back and Derek dropped it, thinking Stiles’ silence meant… well, he didn’t know what anything meant at that moment. He turned to leave as well but Stiles grabbed his hand again and pulled him back.

Stiles gave him three seconds. Three seconds to look at each other, to back down, to run away. Then he leaned in and kissed Derek.

Kissed him like they weren’t potentially going to be slaughtered within the hour. Like they were a normal couple having a first kiss.

Like a promise.

Derek cupped Stiles’ cheek and let himself believe that promise for a second. Dragged his hand down Stile’s neck to cup the base of it, holding him still. Dipped his fingers under the collar of Stiles’ shirt to touch the hidden skin there. He felt a zing, a jolt, something that felt like it was opening his mind.

“Whoa,” Derek mumbled against Stiles’ mouth. Stiles pulled back slowly, as if reluctant.

“Later,” Stiles said, nodding firmly and then it was time for them to leave.

But that _was_ a promise.

 

*******

The literal roar of the battle around him came to Derek like a sledgehammer to the side of the head.

He could barely see through the red but whether it was rage or blood he didn’t know.

Arrows and bullets flew, struck him but he no longer felt errant ones piercing his skin. No wolfsbane, no real damage. But damn, did it still sting.

Above the pain and the snarls and the screams and weapons making their targets Derek heard the buzzing. He could feel the air get tight around him, everything around him get drawn in, like tugging a tablecloth and a full place setting towards yourself.

All towards Stiles.

Stiles who was standing up the hill from the battle, overlooking what was happening.

Derek could see his eyes from there, how they flashed in the dark. And the crackling energy from his hands that got more excited the more energy he drew.

Derek barely had a chance to howl out warning, “ _Everyone down!_ ” before the fight stopped.

The screaming, snarling.

The bullets and arrows.

Sound.

Derek could feel Stiles pulling on everything around them, drawing from the ground and the air and the trees and how everything yielded to him willingly, giving what he needed. Derek felt Stiles reach out to the whole pack, linking them all, and connected to the pack territory. He marvelled, over the din of the fight, at how Stiles asked the land for permission and approval to use its power.

The response from pack land was swift and undeniable.

It felt like a ripple over his skin.

It was more than a ripple.

 

*******

Looking back, it felt anti-climactic.

The threats and the fear, the constant worry that his pack could be ripped out from under him and he would be left in a shallow grave to rot while the alpha pack plundered the town like pirates at sea.

Most of the betas who joined Deucalion’s mission were easily subdued first. They fell to the Hale betas, one after another until their muzzles and claws were covered in blood and viscera. A few fled into the woods, clearly having underestimated the fight the Hale pack would put up or having realized Deucalion’s guarantees of power and ultimate control were empty promises. The rest fought in mismatched and ill-paired groups, falling back on brute force that was sloppy and outmatched by control and calculation.

The twin alphas were able to merge into one giant werewolf, something Derek didn’t realize could exist. They were split back in two by an arrow from Allison with a wolfsbane infused explosive that prevented them from joining again. Derek cut into one of them with such severity he shifted back to beta form and twitched through the rest of the fight. Chris’ wolfsbane bullet found a home between his brother’s eyes.

Deucalion tried to slink around at the back still in human form with his cane, behind the protection of his pack but as his defences were picked off, one by one, he started to pace and get angry, snarling with each blow the Hale pack and associates landed on one of his.

Kali, dangerous with both her hands and feet, was trickier to take down. Stiles tossed a stunning spell into the mix and accidentally took out Isaac with it but Kali was disoriented enough for Derek to dart forward and grapple with her. She was fierce, panicked and lethal and her claws caught him a few times, making him yelp but he growled back a warning at the betas and Stiles both to stay away.

The next trick Stiles sent into the fray made her instinctively duck away and that gave Derek the advantage. He caught her at the ankles, fangs sinking in and he snapped her leg, sending her whimpering and crawling toward Deucalion.

Deucalion started to shift, growing bigger than anything Derek ever saw before but somehow devolving in his change to something ugly and monstrous and _wrong_. He was deformed. He was beyond nature, out of touch with the mutated thing he called his wolf.

That was when the buzzing started. Everyone felt it. It dug like a sliver under the skin and vibrated until it set Derek’s teeth on edge.

Deucalion landed on all four paws and let out a terrifying, unsettling, rumbling growl. He lumbered forward, as if unable to move smoothly in this bulky form. Kali whimpered at him as he passed and he bit her, clamping down on her side quick and sharp so she yelped and Derek couldn’t help but bare his fangs involuntarily in sympathy for her pain, that he could feel so acutely.

_Showtime, folks_ , Derek heard in his head, as if Stiles was speaking into his ear.

Derek barely had time to howl his warning before what felt like a white electricity swept across the clearing. It reminded him of videos of bombs and shockwaves that levelled everything in their paths in the aftermath.

He felt it but it brushed past him, and around the rest of the pack. Protected them and left them standing strong.

_The alpha pack never stood a chance,_ Derek thought, dazed.

 

*******

Derek was there to help Stiles down the embankment when the dust literally settled.

Erica put it best when she compared what Stiles did to waving a blanket and watching everything on it fly off from the force. A few trees were knocked down, rocks were shifted and Derek wouldn’t be surprised if the action registered to some Beacon Hills residents living closer to the preserve as a small earthquake.

The remaining betas, the last twin and Kali had shifted back to human and were all dead. Kali’s eyes were frozen open in horror, staring up into nothingness blankly. Isaac pushed her with his foot to roll her over.

“You okay, man?” Scott asked Stiles, coming to his other side. Stiles nodded grimly. He looked pale and shaky but staid and firm.

“We’re not done,” he said, nodding across the clearing to where Deucalion lay, also shifted back to human.

He wasn’t dead.

The pack approached him warily but it was clear he wasn’t going to be an issue. A thin line of blood trickled out of his mouth and he was staring at them all, terrified, as he tried to get his limbs to move and push himself away.

“If you kill him you take his power,” Stiles said, addressing Derek even though his eyes never left Deucalion’s who looked back at him with his cloudy, unseeing ones.

“If I kill him I might get revenge for my family,” Derek replied but the words were hollow.

“You know that’s not the way it works,” Stiles said quietly. Derek’s betas crowded around him, nuzzling against his back and arms with their hands and faces.

Reminding him.

Stiles reached out and laced his fingers through Derek’s, still without looking.

Anchoring him.

Deucalion gurgled in front of them, blood bubbling from his mouth as he gasped out, “S… s’weak. Y’r p-p-p’theic.”

By the time Derek registered the whistle of the arrow in the air it was already embedded in Deucalion’s chest, directly in the heart. There were two beeps and then Deucalion’s body seized up as his veins started running black.

Derek felt nothing as he watched Deucalion writhe on the ground, bleeding black and blood, seizing and gasping wetly before his life ended in silence. Not a whimper, not a sigh. Nothing to mark the death of one of the most horrific chapters in lycanthropic history.

Allison and Chris walked up behind them, standing a respectable distance away and waited to be acknowledged. Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand lightly, then turned his back deliberately on Deucalion. The pack followed suit.

“Consider that our attempt at amends for the wrongs my family has done to you in the past,” Chris said while Allison stood at his side with her bow gripped firmly in her hands and her chin lifted confidently. “I know it doesn’t take away the pain or bring your family back. It’s what we can offer.”

Derek hesitated, then took a step forward. He offered his hand to both Chris and Allison who accepted.

“Thank you,” Derek said simply.

“We’ll help burn the bodies and then be out of your town by morning,” Chris said, already moving to start collecting the corpses.

Out of the corner of his eye Derek saw Scott frown and look down. Allison bit her lip and looked at Scott from under her lashes and frowned.

“I’m not exactly diplomatic and haven’t had a need to be since I became alpha,” Derek started, wondering if he was doing the right thing. “I don’t know what your lives are like or if you have a need to but if you would like to stay in Beacon Hills for a while I want to offer you that opportunity.”

Allison’s head snapped up and Scott stared at Derek with open amazement. Chris glanced between his daughter and Derek’s beta, then cast his eyes heavenward for a few seconds. Stiles punched Scott lightly on the arm and grinned.

Apparently it was the right thing.

 

*******

As the sun set and the werewolf fire burned downwind Derek noticed Stiles try to slip away into the trees and felt his stomach drop. Beside him Boyd nudged his arm.

“We can take care of this. Go after him,” Boyd said. Then added without hesitation, “And don’t fuck it up.”

Derek opened his mouth to protest, then shut it and glared at his beta. “Erica’s a bad influence on you.”

Boyd’s booming laughter followed him as he ran to catch up with Stiles who made it further than he thought he would have. Derek felt his mouth dry up as he considered that maybe Stiles _wanted_ to leave now. The deal they made was done, the alpha pack was destroyed.

“Wondered if you’d see me,” Stiles said lightly, easily when Derek fell into step beside him.

“It’s too quiet when you’re not around to keep your mouth running,” Derek threw back and Stiles grinned.

It felt normal. They walked through the woods in silence, Derek watching carefully and ready to pull Stiles away if he was going to trip over a log or veer off path but he didn’t. He didn’t need Derek. He was still pale from what he did to the alpha pack but he was recovering quickly.

Twenty minutes later when the house, still standing whole and strong, was in sight Derek broke.

“Are you…?”

“Am I what, Derek?” Stiles asked firmly. He didn’t slow down while he waited for Derek to finish his question. When they reached the house Stiles sighed and started up the front steps while Derek came to a total stop at the bottom.

“Fuck it. Are you leaving?”

Stiles turned around slowly and looked down at him. “Thought that was the plan.”

Derek swallowed hard. “Plans change.”

Stiles nodded. “They can, sure. But do they?”

Derek’s heart was beating so hard and quick in his chest he was incredibly happy the rest of the pack was still in the woods.

“Maybe?” Derek said, barely above a whisper. Stiles frowned and looked unhappy.

Derek’s stomach dropped.

“Come with me,” Stiles said shortly, turning on his heel, breaking the mountain ash and walking into the house without waiting to see if Derek would follow.

Derek did, but slowly, and trailed him into the kitchen where Stiles was pulling his plaid shirt off, and then tugged his t-shirt over his head easily. He didn’t meet Derek’s eyes before he turned deliberately and fussed with his shirts nervously.

For a long minute Derek could only stare before he finally found his voice. “What,” Derek started hesitantly. “What is that?”

Stiles continued folding his shirt up and laid it on the back of a kitchen chair calmly before spinning to face Derek.

“Those are…” Derek trailed off, staring at Stiles’ shoulder where the tattoo started.

Where the claw marks he’d left on him all those years ago started.

“They’re part of me and the tattoo bound me to you through them and the rest of this pack.”

“But _Stiles_ —“ Derek started, surging forward. Stiles held up a hand and stopped Derek in his tracks, whether from magic or Derek’s own force of will he didn’t know.

“I’ve had this for years, Derek. It wasn’t something I went into blindly, just like when I said I was your emissary. I meant it then, I meant it when I got the tattoo and I still mean it now.”

“But you didn’t have a _choice_ ,” Derek whispered brokenly.

“Of course I did,” Stiles replied calmly. “I didn’t have to come back to Beacon Hills. I didn’t even have to pursue the training all these years. My grandmother was very clear about that. It would have been hard, maybe just as much as going through the training, but I could have taken a step back and said I didn’t want to have any part of this world.”

“Why did you? For me?”

Stiles snorted and Derek blinked hard, feeling his despair doused by Stiles’ indifference. Stiles noticed and laughed as he reached out to grab Derek’s hand.

“Don’t get too high on yourself, mighty alpha. You were part of it, yes, especially once I started getting wind of the cause of the fire. I barely knew you then though, you know? I could feel you, somewhat, but it wasn’t as strong a connection,” Stiles explained and Derek could feel the honesty behind his words through their linked hands.

Stiles continued. “My mother had the potential to be an emissary but she met my father and fell in love. When they moved here she could sense Deaton’s power and made herself known to him and your mother. They were all friends. She had enough training to know how to help Deaton if he needed it and I think your mom and my mom discussed things at times. She never had a potential pack to dedicate herself to so it was easy for her to be on the fringes of the pack and not feel the pull to protect and help but she did anyway.”

“I think I remember her,” Derek said slowly, memory calling up the hazy image of a willowy woman with long wavy hair and a wide, infectious smile. But she was only in glimpses in his mind.

“She’d be hard to forget,” Stiles said, with only a hint of sadness. Derek squeezed his hand in reply and Stiles continued. “She taught me a little bit about who we are before she passed. Enough that when she died it was the trigger for me to find my power so I could hold on to her for a little while longer. That’s what I was doing the night you found me at the cemetery. I wasn’t trying to resurrect her or anything, I just wanted to…”

“Feel her?”

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered. “Instead I felt the immediate connection to you.”

“You mean to my claws,” Derek said, eyes drifting to the inked claw marks on Stiles’ shoulder and he couldn’t keep the shame out of his voice.

“There was a reason for that, Derek. And you’re hardly to blame seeing as you were going through a fuckton of issues yourself. I don’t blame you, okay? I refuse to let you keep holding yourself to the metaphorical fire because of this. _I had a choice_ ,” Stiles told him fiercely, grabbing hold of his chin and making Derek look at him.

Stiles’ eyes were wide and wild, almost glowing from the intensity of his words and he gripped Derek’s hand hard enough that it would have hurt someone else. Derek shifted their hold and laced his fingers through Stiles’, palm to palm.

“Derek, I could have opted out of training altogether. I could have requested my grandmother find me another pack to serve. I could have gone on my own and done freelance and made a buttload of money. But the more I learned and the stronger I got I was able to feel out the connection to Beacon Hills. To the land here and yes, to you and the pack you eventually built up. As your pack got stronger so did my connection to you. And to my mom. My mom died here and it was one of the best ways to remember her and to feel her again. It wasn’t hard to make the choice when the time came.”

“The time?” Derek questioned.

Stiles wavered his head a bit, as if trying to figure out how to explain it. “You can opt to make yourself permanently connected to a pack or region when it feels necessary or ‘right’.” Stiles gestured to the tattoos. “That’s what this is.”

Derek swallowed hard and followed his hands. The more he looked at how the [lines wove themselves over Stiles’ shoulders](http://i.imgur.com/TzEb811.jpg) and [down his back](http://i.imgur.com/wOFNZVk.jpg), looping into his version of the triskele, the more it seemed the lines were moving on their own, like they did when Stiles did magic or recovered from it. Like they were alive.

Derek was torn between berating Stiles for making such a huge decision without even checking if things would work out and reaching out to touch him.

Stiles smiled and nodded. “Go ahead.”

Derek blinked. “You—“

“I’m connected to you, remember?” Stiles pressed their hands together harder. “I can’t read your mind but it’s like I can sense what you’re thinking. So I guess it’s kind of like reading your mind? I don’t know, really, it’s something my mom could do with my dad and I. I couldn’t get away with _shit_ around her.”

Derek laughed, a loud bark of sound that surprised him, but he could feel the fondness and love in Stiles voice and through their skin. He raised his other hand and carefully trailed one finger lightly up Stiles’ arm to his shoulder, avoiding touching the tattoo directly. He let his eyes trace over the lines, saw how the ones on his back looped over his left shoulder and around his ribs to form a rowan tree over his heart.

“That’s a [rowan tree](http://i.imgur.com/80ZgJxC.jpg), right?” Derek asked, letting his fingers slide across Stiles’ chest to lightly edge the empty branches of the tree.

Stiles grinned. “Sure is.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be deadly for witches?”

“Good thing I’m not a witch,” Stiles laughed. “It was thought to be used for protection against witches at one time, yes, but I choose to believe that it was used to ward off malevolent beings, more than anything. And it’s a symbol of a threshold for some, as well.”

Stiles covered Derek’s hand on his chest and looked him in the eye. “Want to know something cool about the tattoo?” Derek nodded. Stiles guided his fingers over the dark roots. “The roots will grow as time passes.”

Derek’s eyes got wide. “How?”

“I enchanted it that way when it was being done. It was the first one I got, when I was fifteen. My gram had to make sure there were people there to keep me focused because I hate needles.” Derek raised an eyebrow. “I know! But it felt right, you know? And once I made my declaration to Beacon Hills a few months ago it finally started to root.”

Derek was quiet for a second, and he was fighting so many feelings inside himself it could make him dizzy if he let them take him down a spiral. But Stiles was holding both his hands, anchoring him in the moment.

To him.

“So what you’re saying is that you’re not dicking around with this emissary business.”

Stiles smiled. “I’m in this for the long haul. Can’t get rid of me now! I’m yours.”

Those words struck Derek like an arrow to the heart and he felt it hard to swallow. “Mine?”

“Well, the pack’s emissary,” Stiles amended. Derek nodded because of course. Of course, Stiles was the pack emissary. He tried to pull away but Stiles wouldn’t let him. Derek looked up.

Stiles licked his lips and for the first time since Derek met him seemed less than sure of himself. “But I am, you know. Yours?”

Derek pulled his hand away from the rowan tree tattoo and settled it on Stiles’ shoulder, fingers hovering and then fitting perfectly on the scars from his claws all those years ago. Stiles sighed as soon as skin touched skin and Derek could wholeheartedly say he knew exactly what Stiles was feeling.

It felt like completion and the relief of a job well done and crawling into bed at the end of a long day, feeling your body totally relax.

“Feels like coming home,” Stiles whispered and Derek thought, _yes_.

Stiles smiled at that, like he heard Derek’s fervent agreement in his head, and it was the same smile Stiles got when he talked about his mom or dad or growing up with Scott—things that made him the happiest.

Derek made him smile like that.

“I don’t want to overstep my boundaries with the alpha again,” Stiles started as Derek’s fingers ran along the scars on his shoulders. “But now would be a really great time to kiss me.”

Derek paused and looked at Stiles, smirk spreading across his lips. “You think so?”

“If you don’t I will,” Stiles threatened, but it was muted by the way his voice trailed off breathily while he leaned in to Derek.

Derek cupped his hands around Stiles’ neck, letting his thumbs rub against the underside of his jaw, and kissed him softly. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist and relaxed against his body, letting the tension ease from his body. Derek supported him easily, pulling him closer until they were clinging to each other and their mouths were barely pressed together, breathing each other in.

“So what happens now?” Derek asked, his lips tickling along Stiles’ cheek as he spoke.

“I don’t know,” Stiles replied truthfully. “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen once the alpha pack was finished, I was focused on getting us through that.”

“As long as things calm down and I don’t have to worry about anyone in the pack getting hurt,” Derek murmured, holding Stiles tighter. Then he froze and pulled back to look Stiles in the eye. “That means not deliberately putting yourself in harm’s way, you know.”

Stiles scoffed. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Derek raised an eyebrow like a challenge. “I’m the alpha.”

 “And I’m the emissary. A certain amount of hight-flying, heart-pounding danger is practically in the job description,” Stiles said with a grin.

“We’ll see,” Derek replied drily. “Now kiss me.”

Stiles did and Derek muttered against his lips, “Thought I couldn’t tell you what to do?”

“Shut up,” Stiles mumbled back.

Derek found the marks he left on Stiles so long ago and ran his fingers over them. A perfect fit.


End file.
